The Portrait
by Kainos Ktisis
Summary: Three hundred years is enough for a man to forget everything but a taste for revenge and the touch of seduction. Poor Tifa Lockhart has no idea what she is about to get caught up in. AU.
1. Part One

A/N: Wow...I can't believe it's already been five months since I posted something new. Yikes... In my defense, my laptop crashed soon after my last update and basically wiped out everything I had. I'd made a backup a year ago, but since I've done a lot of writing since then, much of everything recent is gone. Suffice to say, I was not a happy camper and was extremely discouraged. I didn't even want to look at **PRO BONO **for the longest time because all my outlines, summaries and pre-written scenes were all gone. Anyhow, there's no point in crying over spilled milk, but I just want to warn you all that I might completely redo **PRO BONO**. I'll keep most of what's already up, but since I can't remember exactly what I meant to do with it, I might as well strike anew.

In the meantime, this fic came flowing beautifully out of my fingers this past week. I've integrated the duke!verse of my **ANOTHER LIFETIME** collection into this and it basically fleshes out the story. This will come in four parts. I'm nearly done with all of them, so this should be up in its complete glory within the next couple of weeks. A lot of the material in these first two parts are not necessarily new, but it's rearranged to make more sense. Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

**THE PORTRAIT**

ONE

* * *

_Nibelheim, 1710_

* * *

Cloud Strife, the notorious sixth Duke of Midgar, was the type of man that everyone would love to hate. His long-revered title came in conjunction with a disgusting amount of wealth upon which each year he seemed to add with staggering consistency. He was worshiped in all circles, whether it be social, political, or even the underground criminal world (though of course none would _dare_ breathe a word that the duke was involved in anything remotely nefarious).

Astounding wealth and impeccable social status would be bad itself by themselves, but to add insult to injury, he was also obnoxiously _attractive_, though that was far too frail a word to describe the extent of his physical beauty.

Yes, his were the portraits that women of all ages sighed after: the young ladies in wishful dreams wherein he would sweep them off their feet and bind himself in sweet matrimony with them (because of course, no proper young lady would dare be seen with him alone otherwise), the old in wistful sighs wherein they lamented that he wasn't born forty years earlier, and—Cloud's personal favorite—the independent young widows who threw sultry glances at him (and some, quite a bit more) in hopes of a night with the infamous duke.

One would think that his lethal popularity with the fairer sex would have embittered the male half of the population against him, but reality was that _everyone_ fawned over Cloud. No one could afford not to. Not to say he didn't have his enemies, but for all his arrogance and high-handedness, the man himself was actually quite likeable.

Those (very far) beneath him in station could not complain at his generosity and thoughtfulness; those (very, very few) above him thought him to be the image of trustworthiness; and those of equal station…actually, he did not treat those of equal station with much respect at all save for a select few, but perhaps that was a sign of his superior intelligence more than a defect in character. After all, he was never one for the rampant hypocrisy that seemed an inborn trait of the aristocracy.

But he _was _the Duke of Midgar after all and none would dare oppose him openly.

Perhaps that was why he was somewhat surprised that it was amusement, albeit the kind laced with the decidedly baser emotion of lust, and not irritation tickling his lips when _she_ dared to defy him.

"_No,_" emphatically repeated the lovely Lady Tiffany Lockhart, the only daughter of the Earl of Nibelheim, as if her first refusal was not loud enough, though he could have sworn the echoes of its shout reverberated against the drawing room walls even still.

"No, Tifa? Are you very sure?" he murmured as he disregarded etiquette and crowded into her personal space. She instinctively took a step back, but she could only retreat so far before the wall met her back and she was trapped between two very immoveable objects, one of which she annoyingly found herself unconsciously swaying towards. She caught herself quickly, but not enough to escape notice.

Her glare when she caught him smirking would have felled a lesser man, but this was Cloud Strife and _nothing_ could discompose him.

"No," she said once again. He had to give her credit for keeping her voice as steady as such since he could feel the whole length of her delectable body trembling. He dared flatter himself in thinking it to be desire.

The corners of his lips curved into a slow, burning smile, one that promised long, _long_ nights and a violent shiver coursed through her body and seeped into his. "No, you are not very sure? Or no, you don't want me?"

It pleased him that it took her a full ten seconds before she could drag her gaze from his lips to his eyes and another five before she could reply, somewhat shakily this time, "The second."

He brought his hand up to her face, deliberately grazing his fingertips ever so lightly against the outer curve of her breast as he did so. "I think you're lying. I think you want me just as much as I want you."

Her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of red, but she refused to answer.

Cloud pondered his options. With any other woman, he would have simply laid siege on her lips until she relented in bliss—which, admittedly was what his body ached to do—but Tiffany Lockhart was not just any other woman. If he played his cards right, she would be his wife in less than a month. There was no need to rush, and somehow he knew that to push her too far too quickly would have her refusing him even more soundly. Yes, his best option was to retreat for now.

Decision made, he prepared himself to pull away from her—an action infinitely more difficult than he would have ever suspected.

But…he glanced down at her eyes, half-lidded and utterly seductive though he was fairly certain she had no idea she was doing it, and found himself grinning. Surely he could give her—and himself—a little taste of what was to come?

The tip of her tongue came out to moisten her dried lips and he groaned. What a fool he was to think that he could resist!

His lips came upon hers before he was even aware of it.

At any other time, this lack of awareness would have startled him, but in this moment, as he caressed those full lips with his own, he was only aware that it felt wonderfully like coming home.

* * *

_Midgar, 2010_

_

* * *

_

It was one of those days that made Tifa Lockhart wonder how she was ever going to survive the term, much less graduate. It wasn't so much because she had so much to do as it was that, well, she had _too_ much to do.

Sad to say, putting together her art portfolio for submission to finally graduate from that blasted institution known as university, nerve-wracking as it was, was actually the fun part of her schedule. And from the looks of the blank sheet of paper staring back at her from her sketchpad, that "fun" part of her schedule wasn't getting done.

With an irritated sigh, Tifa packed up her equipment as she lamented another wasted afternoon. Well, if nothing else, at least she'd been granted a couple hours of reprieve from her overly loquacious roommate. She loved Yuffie dearly and was grateful to be rooming with her, but sometimes the girl really just didn't know when to stop talking. Ever.

She just knew that the moment she stepped through the front door of their apartment, Yuffie would be bugging her about going clubbing with her again. Contrary to what Yuffie thought, Tifa _did_ in fact know how to have fun; she just preferred the kind of fun that was a little quieter.

She took a moment longer to savor the peace of the museum's gallery. Some people thought that museums were cold and forbidding, but she'd always felt comfort among the relics of old. She wondered many times if she should have gone into history instead of design, but nothing, not even her love for history could come close to the thrill of ecstasy she felt when she was in the midst of creating a work of art. Or maybe they were tied in after all because she loved imagining what the story of every artifact might have been. In a way, it was still all about art and creativity. For her, art and history had always gone hand in hand.

Of course, according to Yuffie, Tifa was spending way too much time with her pictures and old people stuff when she should have been worrying about more important things—like hot guys.

She turned toward the exit and paused, her eyes drawn as only an artist's would be to the perfection captured in the portrait hanging by the door. She wasn't sure how she missed it on her way in, but now that she saw it, she was irresistably drawn to it. She found herself standing right in front of it before she was even aware that she had moved.

It was a beautiful painting, and even though it was probably close to three hundred years old, the colors were still as bright and vibrant as ever. But it was not the superior technique that drew her artist's admiration. No, what truly caught her attention were the eyes.

Eyes filled with the brightest blue she'd ever beheld and even as she sifted through her mental color palette, she knew that it would be impossible to recreate such a unique shade of summer sky and clear ocean reef all rolled into one. The eyes were set in a face of impossible masculine beauty, striking lines that marked a straight nose, a stubborn set of a jaw, eyebrows that could only be fashioned by the most meticulous sculptor, and lips pressed into a thin line, as if he were angry…or perhaps unbearably sad. The perfection of his image extended to the wondrously built form of his body, even encased as it was in the layers his suit as was the fashion then. Still she could easily make out the broad length of his shoulders and chest tapering to narrow hips and strong thighs.

It made her smile unconsciously when she noted that everything about the subject matter screamed noble…save for that wild stand of unrepentant blonde hair rising in all directions from his head. She liked to think that perhaps he might have been burdened with heavy responsibilities from birth, but he knew that life was more than duty.

She did not know how wistful her sigh was as she gazed into the image of a man who she could have loved. Startled, she shook her head at her thoughts.

Her friends told her that she was too obsessed with her art; maybe they were right after all. Falling in love with a portrait? Good lord, maybe she really should go out to the club tonight.

"_Tifa…"_

She spun around sharply at the faint whisper of her name but the few others in the gallery were absorbed with their own musings. Heart beating with almost painful speed, she caught her breath and surveyed the room once more. She had probably imagined it. The voice had been so soft, but her heart ached terribly for some reason and she could not rid herself of the touch of that melancholic tenor against her ears.

The back of her neck prickled with awareness, as if someone was watching her intently, but she knew even as she turned back to the portrait that the only person staring at her possessed eyes of impossible blue allure. She looked back into those eyes and lost herself in his world.

Perhaps he had been a nobleman, a duke even. He certainly had the bearing. He would have set the world afire with those pensive lips and expressive brows. She wished she could have met him. His voice would have been a seductive melody, soothing her fears even as she melted into his arms. His lips would have feathered against her hair and her temples, her cheeks and nose before settling first gently, then with greater fervor against her willing lips. His hands, those elegant masterpieces, would have gripped her firmly around the waist, pulling her tighter against his hard body while his fingers drummed hypnotic beats against her back, her hips, her thighs.

His tongue touched hers and she lost herself in sensation, her fingers digging deep into the nape of his neck and dragging through the soft down of his hair. She raised herself higher on her feet and tried to get closer, closer, _closer_ to that elusive sense of completion, but it seemed nothing could quench the burning fire that raged throughout her body.

"_Cloud,"_ she moaned in desperation, the heretofore unknown name coming naturally to her lips.

And as suddenly as that, she found herself thrown back into the art gallery, her breathing heavy as if she had just run a mile. _Or had just been kissed out of her mind_.

Oh god. She had just fantasized about a man in a portrait. She raised shaking hands to her cheeks and found them heated, but whether it was from embarrassment or unfulfilled desire, she could not say.

She really needed to get away. She turned to leave, but she couldn't help herself as she checked the small plaque beneath the painting hoping to see the name of the artist. Somehow she wasn't surprised when it was assigned as "Unknown."

Pity she would not be able to research other pieces of art from the brush of this master, but it seemed fitting that such a majestic work of art did not have a known artist. If she didn't know better, she could almost swear that something like this could only be the work of a god. Maybe that was why…

_Just _forget_ it!_ cried the sensible part of her mind. The rest of her agreed after only the briefest hesitation.

The club was starting to sound better and better.

…

If one had been very carefully observing the portrait of the unnamed man by the unknown artist, they would have been startled to find that those bright blue eyes darkened fractionally as they shifted to watch an unsettled young brunette hurry out of the gallery. Then they would have seen the hard lips curve into a possessive smirk, one dark enough to send shivers down the spine of the bravest soul.


	2. Part Two

A/N: Next part up. Other than a couple of minor edits, there's actually no new material in this. No worries though because part 3 is coming up soon. It's kind of funny how quickly I can write when I'm procrastinating at work (not that I do that a lot...). Anyhow, enjoy!

* * *

**THE PORTRAIT**

TWO

* * *

_Nibelheim, 1710_

* * *

Tifa Lockhart was a fool.

At least that was the constant refrain in her head after her narrow escape and subsequent flight from the infuriating Duke of Arrogant in the drawing room. Her skin tingled, her cheeks—and some other unnamable parts of her as well—flushing with heat just thinking about the encounter with who must be the most irresistible man alive.

And she who prided herself on her good sense and level head found to her miserable surprise that he _was_irresistible, even to her. Because if she were honest with herself, and she liked to think that she usually was, the truth was that if Cloud hadn't stopped, she didn't think she would have put up any real resistance.

Dear lord, what was happening to her? One kiss was all it took to steal away all her good sense?

But goodness, what a kiss it was!

If he had come with fire and force, perhaps she would have still had the presence of mind to refuse. After all, he was not the first suitor who'd tried to press unwelcome advances—she cringed slightly in acknowledgement that _his _advances were not quite unwelcome—on her. She was quite adept at fending them off, a feat that usually involved a well-aimed knee to a certain unmentionable male body part.

No, Cloud Strife didn't overwhelm her by physical force nor did he come at her against her will. That, she scolded herself, was the worst part. She'd practically _begged_ for him to ravish her. He'd seduced her with feather light touches that had her aching for more pressure, more friction, more _something_ and she recalled with a hot blush that she'd actually followed his mouth eagerly when he'd pulled back a fraction of an inch.

She thought she'd felt his lips spread into a smirk at this point, but she was already too far gone to care that she'd fallen into his trap.

Oh, but what a glorious trap it was!

His kisses were a scorching temptation that drugged her more thoroughly than all the opium in the world. They lit a fire in her that threatened at every moment to suddenly burst into a raging inferno. He teased and taught her lips and tongue to move and dance in ways she'd never even dreamed and all she could do was moan for _more_.

Her whole body felt flushed at the recollection.

Before, she'd never quite understood the obsession with Cloud that ran rampant throughout the aristocracy. She certainly knew now his appeal to the female sex; perhaps that should be termed _danger_, really.

If she hadn't seen him and experienced it for herself, she would have never believed that Cloud Strife was capable of rendering a usually sensible woman so completely undone simply by virtue of a single kiss.

After all, she'd practically grown up with him. Their mothers were best friends, and they'd often spent their summers together in the country. Of course she'd noticed when he started growing into his limbs and his face, which had always had an ephemeral beauty to it, hardened into the sculpted splendor of a _man_, but it was with the somewhat detached curiosity of a sister noticing a brother becoming, God forbid, _attractive_ to the opposite sex, not through the eyes of a grown woman that relished such masculine perfection.

Their ways parted when she was thirteen and he eighteen; Cloud had gone to study at the reputable SOLDIER institution, and she had remained in Nibelheim, supposedly in training to be a proper lady of society. At times her mother despaired that she would never grow out of her unladylike ways, what with the shooting, the hunting, and—the revered Countess of Nibelheim once nearly fainted at the mention—riding horseback _astride_. Fortunately, her mother acknowledged that, and for which Tifa rejoiced, Tifa possessed an innate grace that allowed her to skimp on many a lesson on decorum in favor of the decidedly less ladylike pursuits aforementioned.

Seven years passed and in the interim Tifa and Cloud had exchanged the occasional letter, but with distance and time between them, the letters grew increasingly formal. Tifa thought it a shame, but acknowledged sensibly that it was only natural. It wasn't as if they could just romp together in the fields any longer. (The mental image of _romping_ in the fields with the current Cloud Strife had her all a-tingling once again.)

Imagine her surprise when, at the largest ball of the year, the most gorgeous man there was none other than her childhood friend Cloud Strife and not only that, he seemed intent on capturing the favor of _herself_.

Initially she was flattered, and not just a little bit smug that the most eligible but elusive bachelor would choose _her_, but it became clear that he had already made an arrangement with her parents that they would marry within the season.

Then she was simply angry. She knew exactly why he was offering for her now. She was a logical choice, a _convenient _one, she reflected bitterly. Her bloodlines were impeccable, her dowry considerable, and she was not humble enough to deny her beauty. There was also the little added benefit that he'd known her practically since birth and therefore knew that she would never stray from her marriage vows, a welcome though rare asset in a society where fidelity was seen as superfluous.

The reminder of his cold-blooded arrangement for their marriage rekindled her ire. Did he think to woo her so easily with a single (well, perhaps their encounter numbered slightly more than that), measly (she was actively lying to herself now) kiss? He would dare to try to _seduce_ a favorable response from her?

Fie on him! He'll learn better than to underestimate a Lockhart.

* * *

_Midgar, 2010_

* * *

It was a strange feeling, being able to move his limbs again. Three hundred years was a long time to have one's soul trapped in a portrait after all.

Unconsciously, Cloud kept on flexing and wriggling his fingers, pleasantly delighted each time his digits responded nimbly and in automatic accordance with his commands. It amazed him to think how much he had taken for granted. Three hundred years of only being able to rely on two senses, his hearing and his sight, gave him a new appreciation for the ones he'd been deprived of these long, slow years.

Ridiculous as it was, he even relished the arid stink of garbage that pervaded the back alley behind the bar. If he could take joy in even the worst of odors, he could only imagine the ecstasy he would find in breathing in _her_ personal aroma. Of course, smell was not the only sense he intended to explore her with.

His eyes, having already burned into his visual memory the delicate lines of her beauty, teased him with the knowledge that her skin was probably just as soft as it looked. His ears taunted him with thoughts of what her naturally husky tones, which already spoke to him melodies of an innate sensuality tempered with sweet innocence, would sound like moaning his name.

But it was not enough to only see and hear her. He had to touch her, smell her…taste her. Oh yes, taste…perhaps his favorite sense of all.

It pleased him to think that her lips would taste the same even after three hundred years. If anything, that deliciously sensual mouth of hers was more potent than ever, and he hadn't even sampled her in reality yet. His body burned just at the thought of her.

"You are certain that it is wise to confront her here?"

The deep voice interrupted his salacious thoughts and Cloud Strife turned to his companion. Vincent Valentine, as he was known now, was a stoic sort, all dark hair and dark clothes and dark everything save for his skin, which boasted a shade so pale white, it sometimes looked translucent.

Cloud had long ago given up trying to determine which of the two of them had been betrayed more grievously, but the end results were much the same. While Cloud had been doomed to an eternity bound to a portrait, Vincent had been damned to forever wander the earth as something not completely human. It was little wonder they became friends; it had been the same man who'd destroyed both their lives.

That, and for reasons still unknown to both of them, Vincent had been the only one able to communicate with Cloud on that ethereal plane that existed somewhere between dreams and reality these past three hundred years until _she_ finally appeared.

He couldn't decide what he was feeling now that she was finally here. For the first hundred years after his curse, he'd despaired of her never showing up. He'd raged and raged and plotted his revenge with single-minded ruthlessness. Consumed with hatred, it had been Vincent's calming presence that finally taught him to do more with his time than hatch plans of a vengeance that would likely never happen. Over the next two hundred years, he redirected his burning passion toward learning. Vincent had procured his portrait long ago and done him the great favor of hanging him in the great halls of his mansions or in the stately rooms of his museums. Always though, it was in a place where he would be able to hear the lectures on the newest theories on politics, science, economics, and so on. If he had thought himself learned as a duke, he realized now that he was ignorant.

"What are you in this lifetime again?" he questioned the tall man with long dark hair, seemingly ignoring his earlier question.

If Vincent was confused by the turn in conversation, he did not show it. "You know very well that I am the curator of the museum in which your portrait was housed."

Cloud made an amused sound. "Appropriate. The never-dead acting as guardian over the remnants of the dead."

He breathed in the stench once again and closed his eyes in anticipation. Three hundred years. He couldn't decide whether he should seek vengeance or satisfaction first. Perhaps a little of both, he mused as he rubbed chapped lips in remembrance of the searing brand of her lips. Yes, both will do nicely.

"No, I will not confront her here. But I will make certain that she is…aware. After all, I should think that my bride will be happy to see me alive and well. Don't you?"

Vincent did not answer but he did not need to. The dark smile on Cloud's face said it all. Cold he may be, but even Vincent felt a pang of unease for the unknowing girl. She might as well have sold her soul to the devil for Cloud will not let her go this time.

…

Tifa wondered if she might be going insane.

It was one thing to have an overactive imagination which saw her ravished beyond her senses by a man in a portrait three hundred years old, but it was an entirely _other_ thing to see that same man—living, breathing, _real_—following her wherever she went.

He was standing in the shadows watching her with that unsettling intense gaze when she made small talk with the bartender, and he hovered at the fringe of her vision when she tried to shake off the weight of his stare on the dance floor. She could have sworn she'd felt his touch burning across her bare shoulders sometimes but when she turned to see, he was never there. It was driving her crazy. Or maybe she was already crazy and he was a figment of her imagination?

But no. Yuffie had noticed him too and teased her mercilessly about his singular attention to her. Tifa didn't go out much, so Yuffie was always trying to find reasons she should. Apparently, hot men with stalker-ish tendencies fell under "reasons to go out." Tifa didn't quite get the logic in that.

He was such a persistent shadow all night, she was somewhat surprised to find her apartment empty when she finally went home frustrated and strangely restless. For a while she kept on jumping at the shadows and freezing at the slightest sounds, and every time she berated herself for being so foolish. Tifa considered herself a rational woman at heart, so by the time she finished her nightly routine, she was already laughing at herself for being so paranoid. Slipping into her small but comfortable bed, she fell into sleep's embrace quickly, her mind blissfully free of any dark strangers.

She was happy too early for he was in every one of her dreams that night.

They came in successive bursts, an endless assault on her subconscious that had her alternately squirming with desire and cowering in shame. It was a strange contrast, those dreams. Some proved so sensually addictive that it made her heated body writhe against her bed sheets. But for every sweet imagination (or was it a memory?), there followed quickly after another of horror. _Those_ cooled her ardor as quickly as the fantasies of his touch fired it.

Because in those other dreams, she'd betrayed him.

_Ohgodohgodohgod, what had she _done_? She hadn't wanted this. She never wanted this! Give him back, give him back, give him back, damn it!_

"_Why, Tifa?" his eyes accused her. She had no answer._

Selfish. She was selfish and she thought herself so clever in dodging their betrothal. Manipulated and fooled, she sold his soul, something not even hers to sell. But the worst part was that she hadn't _truly_wanted to break off their impending and inevitable marriage; she'd just wanted it to happen on different terms—_her_ terms. She hadn't wanted a marriage of convenience; she'd wanted love.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Cloud…_

All she managed to do was doom him to an eternal hell.

_His screams of agony reverberated around, within, her and she clutched her head in pain._

In the end, she was left with nothing. No, it was worse than nothing. She owed a debt, one that could not be repaid with even a lifetime.

_Give him back! Please, give him back to me. Please…_

His eyes—anguished and betrayed—kept flashing before her, mocking her for her stupidity.

_Maniacal laughter. "It is done, my Lady. As you had wished."_

_No, no, NO! She didn't wish. She didn't! Give him back! She just wanted him back._

Hot tears spilled from her sleeping eyes and her fingers clenched white against the sheets.

"_It is done_." _The voice of a madman rang in her ears._

_She dropped to her knees, a pistol suddenly clutched in her hand._

_BANG!_

She woke with a start, lungs fighting desperately for air while tears and sweat ran mingled down her cheeks.

The hand came out of nowhere to force her against a hard chest. "So you begin to remember, do you, my sweet?"

Her scream pierced the air.


	3. Part Three

A/N: Depending on how you react to the unexpected, you may get the sudden urge to pelt me with rotten vegetables and chase me with pitchforks after this chapter. I wanted to be bold with this and do something different, but I'm not sure it's a kind of different people will appreciate...In any case, I do hope you enjoy this and you can look forward to part 4 coming up soon!

* * *

**THE PORTRAIT**

THREE

* * *

_Somewhere in the slums of Midgar, 1710_

* * *

Tifa pulled the hood of the cloak further over her face and steeled herself to knock on the door. She'd already come all this way. There was no turning back now. She knew what she wanted and a loveless marriage to a heartless duke was not it. So desperate and, yes, she admitted it to herself, foolish, here she was standing in front of the door who's owner could ruin her totally.

She thought back to the last months after Cloud had first offered for her. While she had technically refused, her repudiation had been rendered somewhat ineffectual by the fact that her father had already accepted Cloud's suit to court her. It was another example of the utterly appalling social inequality that so glaringly existed. Her word was only as good as what her father or future husband upheld. And considering that the most likely candidate for that position was well-known for his high-handedness, this truth did not sit well with the ferociously independent secret part of her.

The other part, the atrociously romantic part, had long ago surrendered to the seemingly sweet gestures of a man with an ulterior motive. And to be certain, Cloud made it near impossible for her to ignore that fool romantic heart. In the past few months, Cloud had been wondrously and heartbreakingly attentive, his single-minded pursuit of her making even the most hardened of society's fearsome dowagers sigh wistfully, particularly when—

She sharply reminded herself not to be fooled by his façade. Cloud…didn't love anyone. Everyone in society knew that. He would pursue her until he had his heirs on her and then he would return to his love affairs. _If he broke them off at all_, she thought bitterly.

Marriage for him was nothing but another duty, and while that might have been acceptable or even desirable to her a year ago, it was impossible for her to view that sacred union in the same light now. Despite her best efforts to the contrary, she found herself deeply and irrevocably in love with the man, and anything short of a union based on mutual love, especially with him, would be hell.

Her resolve strengthened by the thought of a lifetime tied to a man who would break her heart every single day, she lifted her fist and struck it lightly but firmly against the wood.

It seemed an interminable eternity before the rusted hinges creaked the door open.

Dark velvet eyes set in a surprisingly beautiful face watched her suspiciously from behind the half-open door.

Clearing her throat, Tifa was embarrassed to find that her voice came out as barely a whisper. "I am seeking Hojo."

She had no idea whether that was his first or last name, or if it was his name at all, but everyone knew that if one wanted to have some magic done, his was the most reliable. Of course, the consequences and the payment…those were always dangerous and costly, but Tifa was desperate, and if this madman could give her what she wanted…

"Who's there, Lucrecia?" called a man's voice from the depths of the small shack.

Tifa battled back her reservations and bottled them in. She couldn't show weakness, not to this man. He would eat her alive otherwise.

Straightening her back, she looked down her nose at the woman in the door, an impressive feat since she stood several inches shorter. "I am Lady Tiffany Lockhart."

Hojo's cackling laughter sent chills straight to her heart and scratched irritatingly at the marrow of her bones. That was the only warning she had before the man himself appeared and an unbearable sense of _wrongness_ slapped her across the face.

His appearance was unthreatening and perhaps that made him all the more dangerous. He was a wizened man stooping low with either a bad back or a very good hunchback imitation. A pair of battered spectacles graced his long, hawk-like nose, hiding blood-shot eyes, and his hair was greased back in a messy queue. She began to see where rumors of his insanity could be credited.

He terrified her and she couldn't even begin to say why.

"Oh hohohoho! The duke's betrothed? And standing outside my humble abode? Lucrecia, what are you doing standing in my lady's way? Come in, come in, my dear gel."

The tall woman eyed her with an indecipherable look and Tifa felt another uncomfortable shiver slithering down her spine. But before she could even balk, Hojo's thin hand had caught her arm in a surprisingly tight grip and pulled her through the door.

She couldn't help but feel that she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.

* * *

_Midgar, 2010_

* * *

Cloud immediately clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. "Hush now. You owe me at least this much, wouldn't you agree?"

She made such a pitiful noise from the back of her throat that he couldn't help but loosen his grip to a more comforting position. He unconsciously pressed his nose against her hair and inhaled deeply, the scent of her simultaneously wreaking havoc on his senses and soothing an ache that told him that he still somehow possessed a heart. Impossible. He had no heart. She'd made sure of that.

"Three hundred years. Do you know I waited three hundred years for you?"

She shook her head, whether it was in denial or genuine confusion, he did not know.

"Three hundred years I waited to hold you again, to taste you again." He bit the lobe of her ear lightly and thrilled when she shivered. Such lust he had for her! He refused to consider that the warmth in his chest could be anything other than that basest of emotions. After all, she'd been the one to betray him. Anger overtook him. "Three hundred years I waited to punish you."

…

Tifa knew she should have been afraid of him, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to feel anything other than anticipation. She didn't bother pretending she didn't know what he was talking about, so with her voice trembling with something more than fear, Tifa replied, "I'm not your Tifa."

Cloud chuckled darkly. "No?" He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in deeply. "You smell the same." He moved his lips to the junction between her neck and shoulder and nipped her lightly, the tip of his tongue leaving a burning sensation against her skin. "You taste the same."

Her breath quickened and she could feel a liquid warmth pooling in her belly. For some reason, her susceptibility to his seduction angered her enough to clear her mind. He wasn't for her. He didn't even want her. He wanted _his_ Tifa, and she could never be her. Her dreams told her as much.

Sharply, she bit out, "Nevertheless, I'm _not_ the same person."

"You have her memories, do you not?"

"I have dreams, not memories." She refrained from mentioning that dreams were achingly real and the emotions that Lady Tifa had felt… Only a fool would believe that she had willingly betrayed him. "They couldn't be memories since according to my _dreams_, she's dead and in case you haven't noticed, I'm very much alive. Even if there was such a thing as reincarnation, I'm _still_ not the same person! You can't lay the crimes—if they can even be considered such—of another person on my lap."

His eyes flashed and Tifa felt afraid for the first time. "So you claim to be innocent?"

"I _am_ innocent!"

"If you are innocent, what am I? Did I deserve those three hundred years of torment?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it! Whatever happened between you and your Tifa is exactly that—between you and your Tifa! And don't you think it's time to let go? You have to know how she died." She cocked her head to the side and studied him, the shadows of her room making it difficult to see anymore than half of his face, but the mystery of his animosity suddenly broke through the fog of her confusion. "You _do _know, don't you? You know how she died and you feel guilty about it."

He lifted an imperious eyebrow, but her artist's eye for detail caught the slight twitch of his jaw. "And why would I feel guilty? She deserved to die, did she not? She betrayed me, after all. _You _betrayed me."

"Oh no. Don't you dare try that again. I'm still not sure if I buy this whole reincarnation thing. You feel guilty because she died for _you_."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" His grip tightened almost painfully on her hip, but she shoved her arms back against him, refusing to allow him cow her with physical strength.

"Oh I know _exactly _what I'm talking about. You purposefully forgot, didn't you? You made yourself forget that she died for you because it hurt too much. And somehow, in the course of forgetting, whatever love you might have had for her turned into hate. No, that's not quite right. You wanted to hate her because it would hurt less than guilt. Hatred could fuel your existence better than despair."

"Shut up!"

Some devil in her made her add, "Besides, you're not completely innocent in this matter either."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

His eyes narrowed dangerously and a part of her wanted to surrender, didn't want to bait the barely contained beast in him. But her mouth seemed to run on without her control and she scoffed.

"Have you been using your brain at all these three hundred years? Why do you think Tifa felt like she had to go to Hojo in the first place? It wasn't anything evil. She couldn't have known how much Hojo hated you. She loved you and she wanted you to love her back! But you treated your engagement like a business transaction; a very pretty one at that, but still business."

"You lie! I _loved_ her," he growled in her ear, the low rumble perversely causing her skin to tingle with burning fire.

"Well, you sure as hell didn't show it very well."

"I courted her in every proper way. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her!"

"And you never once told her how you felt, did you?" she interrupted him before he could refute it. "Telling her how much you lusted after her doesn't count."

It was strange how well she already knew him, almost as if a voice whispered his secrets in her ear even as she spoke. "She saw you, you know. With that countess, Lord Fair's widow. She thought you were having an affair with her. And that you would continue after your marriage to her."

His eyes, which had previously been narrowed in righteous indignation suddenly widened in surprise and genuine confusion. "What are you talking about?"

Tifa didn't know either, but she kept talking. "The night of that last ball before everything went to hell. She was going to finally give her assent, did you know? She was so excited, finally convinced that _may__be_ you loved her too, and so she went looking for you. And she found you alright, holding the beautiful widow tightly and whispering sweet nothings in her ears. Maybe she would have believed that it was nothing had she not heard you say that you would meet her in her apartments later that night."

A myriad of emotions flashed across Cloud's face and Tifa wished that she could see him better. He shook his head. "No. No. That wasn't what happened. I'd only meant that I would drop off some of Zack's letters that he'd written to Aerith during the war. She deserved that much since it was my fault he died. Tifa… she couldn't have believed that I would betray her like that. She couldn't."

Softly now, her anger abated by Cloud's devastation, Tifa said, "Maybe it was true that she betrayed you, but her greatest sin wasn't going to Hojo. Maybe her greatest sin was simply that she hadn't trusted your affections to stay true to her."

She watched with morbid fascination as the demons fought inside his mind. His eyes flashed between true blue and panther-like green, his features tugging back and forth from despair to wrath. She knew that part of him, probably a big part of him didn't want to face the truth. But he had to or he'd be damned forever. Suddenly feeling desperate that his soul not be lost, Tifa wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked his head against her shoulder, fingers stroking a soothing rhythm through his hair.

"Fight it, Cloud," she murmured, the words flowing from her mouth without conscious thought. "You know she wouldn't purposefully betray you. You know that, don't you? Think back, Cloud. You know her character. You remember laughing and bantering with her, don't you? You remember how she used to look up at you with those big brown eyes and you promised yourself that you wouldn't allow anything in the world to hurt her? The woman you loved would never hurt you on purpose. She made a mistake, but she already paid for it, Cloud. She already paid for it."

"Why did she not trust me?" he whispered, the brokenness in his voice tugging painfully at her heart. The fight drained out of him and he sounded lost, confused. If she had had any doubts about his feelings for Lady Tifa, they were put to rest now. He loved her with everything he had and it broke him when she betrayed him.

She shook her head. "I don't know, Cloud. I really don't know."

Tifa had no words left, so she just continued to hold him silently. It was humbling, seeing this man with his impossible large presence brought down so low that he curled around her like a beaten puppy.

Cloud was motionless for the longest time and Tifa wondered if he had fallen asleep. Then she felt a single hot tear fall on her shoulder. He was _crying_. She leaned back to try to see his face, but suddenly she slipped backwards out of Cloud's hold—a blast of frigid air slicing through her body—and tumbled out of her bed.

She lay there on the ground stunned for a moment, staring up at her ceiling until she realized that Cloud hadn't let go of her. In fact, he was _still_ holding her! Just, it happened to be a her dressed in a lavish gown that shimmered silvery-blue and whose body glowed faintly with an unearthly pall. For that matter, Cloud was looking mighty ghostly as well.

Ghostly? Oh. _Oh_.

Oh god, he was _dead_. Then that other her….that could only be Lady Tiffany Lockhart. There were ghosts in her bedroom. She wanted to laugh hysterically. Then is suddenly dawned on her that the cold she'd felt pass through her was in fact her passing _through_ Cloud's non-corporeal body. She shivered violently.

"Thank you." Tifa's eyes snapped up to find an identical pair looking into her. Lady Tifa's cultured tones modulated it, but that was clearly her own voice speaking back to her.

"What?" she managed to choke out eventually.

"You've given him something I was never able to give during my lifetime. You gave him peace." Lady Tifa lifted an ethereal hand to brush through Cloud's mane of uncontrollable hair as she bent her head to press a gentle kiss on his temple. He was still sobbing quietly into her shoulder and Tifa's heart ached at the simple affection. This—they—were meant to be, but she couldn't help the pang in her heart.

"It was you all along," Tifa replied, and she knew it was the truth even as the notion solidified in her mind. "The words that came, the memories, the love, those were all yours. I was just a mouthpiece."

Lady Tifa smiled lightly. "Nevertheless it took someone willing to let me use her body, and though you didn't know me, your consciousness didn't even hesitate to help me. I thank you."

"That's something of a disturbing thought actually. I'm glad to help, but I really don't fancy being possessed by ghosts all the time."

"It won't happen again."

"If you say so."

"I do."

They smiled at each other, kindred spirits and family three hundred years apart. Hesitantly, Tifa finally asked the one question that had been bothering her all along. "You never did show me what happened with Hojo."

"Does it really matter?" Lady Tifa dark eyes were unfathomable, and as she stared into them, Tifa felt herself transported to another time and place.

_Blood, it was all over the ground. Before her lay Hojo's prone form, that red liquid seeping steadily out of a bullet wound in his chest. "You lied to me! You bastard, you lied to me! You said you wouldn't hurt him. You promised you wouldn't hurt him."_

_Hojo cackled and choked on his own blood coming up from his lungs. "But I haven't harmed him, foolish chit. He'll live forever now, bound to your heart, just like you wanted."_

_"Damn you, you know that's not what I meant!"_

_"Ah, but you did not clarify, now did you?" _

_He fell into another coughing fit and she broke out of her immobility long enough to fall next to him and start putting pressure on his bullet wound. _

_"Damn it, you can't die! Not until you give him back to me!"_

_"Oh, naïve fool. I can't do that. It's out of my hands now."_

_"Damn you, Hojo, damn you!"_

_As if just to spite her, Hojo rattled in one last breath, his lips spread in a mocking grin. She pressed harder against his chest, trying to pump life into him and when that didn't work, she pounded here fists against him, knowing even as tears blurred her vision that it was too late. Cloud was doomed for an eternity._

I want him to stay true to me forever, for us to be of the same heart and soul.

He'll live forever, bound to your heart.

_Same heart and soul…bound to my heart…_

_Wildly, she cast about for the pistol. There, next to his portrait, next to Cloud. She half-crawled, half-scrambled to it, almost losing hold of it from the slippery blood on her hands. _

_"I'll fix this Cloud, I promise I'll fix this."_

_Eyes focused intently on Cloud's in the portrait, Tifa pulled the trigger._

Tifa winced and automatically lifted a hand to her temple where the resounding explosion of a gunshot still echoed in her head. She wondered if Lady Tifa knew what she'd just projected to her, but when she saw Lady Tifa's lips wryly turn up the faintest bit in the corner, Tifa understood. Cloud was still too raw and wounded to hear it all again.

"No, I suppose not," Tifa said quietly, answering a question that held no consequence. "What happens now?"

Lady Tifa smiled. "Now, we are at peace."

Tifa frowned, but before she could say anything, their bodies shimmered once, twice and then there was nothing.

* * *

A/N: *whistles innocently* Don't hurt me yet! Wait until the next (and final) part at least! Thanks for reading!


	4. Part Four

A/N: And here is the final installment for this short story. Jump to my Author's note after the story if you'd like a brief explanation of things, but for the most part, I didn't explain everything thoroughly on purpose. I want to treat you all as intelligent readers so I'm not going to dumb this down.

Anyhow, hope you enjoyed this short fic because I had a lot of fun writing it!

* * *

**THE PORTRAIT**

FOUR

* * *

_The Lifestream_, _Timeless_

* * *

Cloud lifted his hand before his face and examined it carefully. It looked solid enough, enough so that he knew he was not trapped back in a portrait, at least. But as he took in his surroundings, he wondered how it was possible that he _wasn't_ in some sort of painting. There was no way that there could be such beauty in the real world.

The sun shone bright and clear overhead, the breeze a playful zephyr tickling his skin. The gently sloping hills reminded him of the verdant fields he used to play in as a child. Days of innocence and days of innocent love.

"Cloud."

The warmth of the voice enveloped him and he couldn't tell if it was coming from within or without. It was her, _his_ Tifa. He could feel it in his bones.

"Tifa? Where are you?" he called out, turning around and around in search of her. "Tifa?"

"Cloud."

The voice clearly came from behind him this time and he spun around franctically, afraid that maybe he didn't deserve to see her. That, despite the beauty of this place, this was actually hell because he would be tormented for an eternity with her voice but never see her.

But then she was there, and he didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until the pressure in his chest was relieved with sudden gusto. He'd barely finished saying her name by the time his arms were around her and his lips pressing desperately against hers. She was real. She was here. He was never letting go ever again.

He could feel her laughter bubbling up beneath his lips but when she tried to say his name again, he took shameless advantage and pressed his kiss deeper. If he could, he would have tried to burrow to the very core of her and dig his pitiful claws in so that no one could ever make him leave.

Her laughter turned to passion and she returned each of his advances with shy, but zealous touches of her own. He tore his mouth away from hers only to trail burning kisses along her jaw and neck and places he'd only been able to dream of for three hundred years.

"I love you. God, I love you so much," he murmured against her skin.

She buried her fingers into his hair and arched against him, her mind a pleasant haze, the only clear thought being how much she loved this man.

…

With a happy sigh, Cloud tightened the hold of his arm around Tifa's waist and had to hold back a chuckle when she nuzzled closer against his chest. They lay together on the warm green grass, all of nature rejoicing with them in their union. They were exhausted, in the good way that only lovers could be, and he couldn't be happier.

"Cloud?"

He didn't resist the urge to press a kiss against the crown of her head. "Yes, love?"

She hesitated, and he momentarily—very, very momentarily—wished that she wasn't lying half on top of him so that he could see her expression.

"What is it, Tifa?"

"I…I never apologized." He started to speak but she reached up and silenced him with a hand. "It really was my fault that you suffered so much for so many years. I didn't trust you, and I ended up hurting you badly."

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't have trusted me either," he replied with a smirk. When she didn't even give him a smile, he sighed and pulled her so completely on top of him so that she faced him. "Tifa, if anyone should be apologizing, it's me. I never gave you any reason to trust my love for you was—_is_—real and unchanging."

Instead of joy spilling from her eyes like he half-expected (hoped), her expression grew even more desolate. "_Why_? Why would you love me when I have done nothing but hurt you over and over again?"

With a sigh, he rolled them over gently so that he now hovered over her. "Love, the only kind of hurt you'll be giving me now, is the kind that I pray you'll be taking care of every time."

He was somewhat heartened to see her roll her eyes at the blatant, and admittedly somewhat awful, sexual innuendo. Eyes growing serious, he caught her chocolatey gaze and held it. "I knew ever since we were kids that I wanted to marry you, but it wasn't until that first ball that I realized how incredible you are and how I couldn't _not_ have you. I realize now that I should have approached you first, but Gaia, I was afraid. I was afraid someone else would see how radiant you were that day and take you away from me. I treated you like a possession to take and you, rightfully, would have none of it. You humble me, Tifa, and believe me, considering the arrogant ass that I am, that's a very good thing."

"Arrogant wasn't exacty the word I was thinking of to describe your ass," she finally conceded after a deathly long pause.

He started in surprise for a moment, then he burst out laughing. "Oh god, did I just hear the ever-proper Lady Tiffany utter such a thing?" His eyes darkened and his voice dropped an octave. "Can you say more?"

She blushed heavily, and Cloud thought it highly amusing considering they'd done far more than just _talk_ sexual innuendos earlier.

"I still betrayed you," she said stubbornly.

"Tifa, knowing Hojo, if it wasn't through you, he would have found some way to damn my soul eventually."

"Yes, but—"

"Ah, ah. No more. I forgive you. Now can you just take my forgiveness and my love for what it is and stop arguing about it?"

She looked like she wanted to continue, but Cloud raised a brow and she sighed. "Just in case you didn't know, I love you too, you know."

Eyes growing serious, he raised a hand to brush back a soft tuft of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on the satin feel of her skin. "Actually, I don't really know why you would love me. I've been an utter fool."

"We were both fools," she smiled in response. Her fingers drew lazy circles on his chest and he tried valiantly to keep his mind on the conversation. "I think I've always loved you, ever since we were kids. I just didn't know it. Honestly, I didn't know it either until I realized how badly I wanted our marriage to be based on love."

"And here I thought it was because I'm so irresistible."

Tifa giggled, the sound of it the most euphonious of songs in his ears. "Well, that too."

He kissed her again, and as desperate as he was earlier to prove that she was really there with him, he was nothing but tenderness this time. He made love to her slowly, savoring each gasp and moan and when at long last they finally peaked together, it was glorious and beautiful and everything he dreamed, but never thought he'd have.

"Can we stay here forever?"

He smiled, the baseless hatred and resentment built up from years of misunderstandings dispersed by the radiance of their love.

"Forever."

* * *

_Midgar, 2010_

* * *

Tifa felt a warm smile broaden on her lips as she gazed upon the portrait. The same vivid blue eyes that first captured her attention were still there, but this time, instead of sorrow and resentment, they were filled with peace and love. His strong hands clasped the slender shoulders of the woman he stood behind, _her_ eyes overflowing with love and devotion as they gazed up at the man.

It was somewhat strange, seeing the woman in the portrait whose face so resembled her own, but she was happy for them. They deserved to be happy after three hundred years of misunderstandings.

Her eyes dropped to the caption below the portrait. _A Lord and His Lady_. Artist Unknown.

"It is good to know that they are finally at peace." The low rumble of a voice came from beside her.

"Mr. Valentine," she greeted. She'd met the quiet man once or twice before on her many excursions to the museum, but she'd never really talked with him. Much of that was because he didn't seem like the kind to engage in small talk.

"Miss Lockhart." He turned blood red eyes on her and she shivered despite herself. Something otherworldly was in his gaze. In fact, it reminded her of the look in Cloud's….

She couldn't hide her surprise.

The slightlest perception of a smile touched his lips. "You have a quick mind."

"The same…?" she finally managed to breathe, hand waving vaguely in front of the portrait.

"Not quite. A curse from the same man, but not quite the same."

"I...I see," she managed, the corners of her lips pulling down in a frown.

"There's no need to pity me, dear girl. My eternity began thirty years before Cloud stumbled into his. I've lived more than three hundred years in peace. I imagine I can live for quite another few hundred without going mad."

"But you knew Cloud was…well, in there. You weren't exactly alone."

"That is true, but I also knew that he was naught but bitter shell of the man he once was. He showed me the folly of revenge."

"I suppose. What will you do now?"

"Do?"

She heard more than saw the elegant eyebrow rise. "I mean, now that Cloud and Lady Tifa are at peace and all that."

She sensed that she amused him when he replied, "I imagine I'll continue doing what I've done all these years."

"And what's that?"

"Live."

She nodded and laughed a little at herself. What else could the man do? "Fair enough."

They fell into a companionable silence and Tifa wondered why she felt more comfortable standing with him in silence than actually talking with the man. But she couldn't help but wonder… "Why did you help him?"

The man beside her stood absolutely still. But she shouldn't have been surprised. Everytime she'd had opportunity to catch sight of the mysterious curator, he'd been inhumanly stoic. She realized now that maybe it was because he was not completely human.

He remained silent for so long that she didn't think he would respond. She was about to give up when he stilled her. "Absolution, I suppose. His demise was brought on partly by myself, after all." His gaze returned to the one man he had called friend all these years. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but eventually refrained from doing so.

"Mr. Valentine…"

"It is good that they are happy. I don't know a more deserving pair."

She nodded, not quite knowing what else to say.

He turned his eyes on her. "You will stay for a little while?"

"Uh, yes, I suppose."

"As you wish."

With a sedate yet graceful bow that reminded her which century this man was from, Vincent Valentine left her by the portrait, his measured footsteps echoing in the gallery.

She stayed only a couple of minutes longer. Strange to think it'd only been a day since she'd last been standing in this exact spot imagining—no, remembering—this man's kiss. Part of her will always remember him and his heat, and sometimes she'll be tempted to think "what if" she were truly Lady Tiffany Lockhart, but she smiled.

"Don't worry," she said, addressing the woman in the portrait. "He's all yours."

Turning to go, she stopped moving abruptly when she heard a familiar voice.

"Hey Vincent, Rude told me you're looking for me. What do you need?"

Her head swung around to the portrait, the quick movement nearly giving her whiplash. Nope, Cloud was still there, with that worshipful gaze in his eyes reserved only for his Lady Tiffany. Then who…?

Her question was answered in the next second as the voice became a man—a very real-looking man at that—who slowed a couple of paces away from her when he noticed that Vincent wasn't in the room.

Sheepishly, he raised a hand to brush the hair—a wild nest of spiky blond hair—at the nape of his neck. "Oh, sorry. Vincent…" he looked around the room and it made her smile despite herself to see him redden. "…Vincent is obviously not here right now. Sorry about that."

"It's not a problem," she murmured even as her gaze went unbidden back and forth from the portrait to the stranger. She knew that it was rude, but she couldn't help it. If she didn't know better, she really would have sworn that they were the same person.

Well, not exactly. While the two looked quite nearly identical, the stranger gave a far different feel than Cloud. He was…relaxed. Well, not really relaxed, but his shoulders did not hold the tension that Cloud had and he didn't have the same arrogant self-assurance either.

It was almost like this is what Cloud the duke would have been like if he hadn't been burdened by the guilt of his lover's death, or brought up with the duties of a duke at the forefront of his mind.

The stranger saw her bewildered look and chuckled, as if this often happened to him. Well, considering the similarities, it probably _did_ happen all the time.

"Ah, yeah. I usually avoid being in the same room as that portrait because it draws too much attention to me, but since it's close to closing and Vincent called me in…"

Vincent? She raised an internal eyebrow. She wondered...

He came to stand next to her, his eyes on the portrait. "That's my great-great-great-great-times-a-couple-of-greats granduncle."

"Cloud?" she exclaimed in surprise.

He looked at her curiously. "Most people don't know his name. Vincent decided not to put his name down because it'd just be too confusing for me. My mom thought it'd be great fun to name me Cloud." He smiled down at her shyly, but he must have noticed _her_ resemblance to a certain someone by the startled look on his face.

Tifa smiled wryly. "What are the chances? My dad named me Tifa, though I'm pretty sure he didn't know I looked so much like one of my ancestors. In fact, I don't think he knows much about our family tree past my great-grandparents."

"Imagine that," he responded, not once taking his eyes from her. "I don't really believe in fate, but…wow."

A rush of heat shivered down her spine at the note of reverent awe in his voice. While she knew that part of it spawned from an amazement at the fact that they were basically living embodiments of the previous Cloud Strife and Tifa Lockhart, she was also very aware of the fact that his gaze was making a slow sweep of her features, the color of his eyes darkening from piercing blue to molten violet.

With an effort, she broke away from the magnetic pull of his too-blue eyes and glanced at the portrait again. Fate? Maybe. At least Yuffie couldn't say that Tifa was never interested in living men anymore. She finally found something that thrilled her more than art.

With a genuinely bright smile, she turned back to _this_ Cloud. "Have you had dinner yet?"

His lips quirked as he gallantly held out an arm, his posture perfectly at ease. "No, but there's a nice little diner just down the street."

She looped hers through his without hesitation, though her heart skipped a beat from the liquid heat of his body.

"That's sounds perfect." As they left the gallery together, her fading voice echoed lightly in the gallery. "So Cloud, do you happen to believe in ghosts?"

* * *

A/N: Aaaaannnd fin!

I realize that this fic was probably not everyone's cup of tea, and in many ways, I wrote this for me. This is the ending I had planned from the very beginning, almost from the inception of "Painting," and I knew that I wanted to try something a little more sensual, a little darker, something that is not completely explained. I also wanted to prove to myself that I could finish a multi-chapter story (short as this may be).

That being said, there are a couple of things I want to clarify (for the confused or the curious). Modern Tifa and Cloud are not reincarnations of the duke and lady. It might be because of an aversion I developed after having spent way too many years in the Inuyasha fandom, but in any case, I was quite proud of myself that I managed to do this without the trite use of reincarnation (not that ghosts are really any better...lol).

Modern Tifa was not randomly fantasizing about hot guys ravishing her; she was experiencing the memories of Lady Tifa. Technically, Duke Cloud's soul should have been set free when Lady Tifa killed herself, but because of his guilt at how she died and anger at her betrayal, Cloud's spirit remained trapped within the portrait. I was iffy about what I did with Cloud's character in that I felt like he's inordinately out of character, but he's just way too much fun to write when he's being all dark and broody and just a touch off his rocker.

(For all you Vincent-fans: he's just itching to get his own story in this, isn't he? Right now I don't have anything in store for him, but his broody-awesomeness is just begging for his story to get told.)

Anyhow, like I said, I don't want to over-explain things because I wanted to give you the reader the "fun" puzzle of figuring things out. Hopefully you were able to get the general flow of the story without even needing to read this explanation, but if not, that's probably more my fault than yours. The problem with not having an editor/beta is that I don't know how my stories will actually fly with someone who doesn't have special insight into my mind.

Thank you for all the great feedback you've already given me, and I sincerely hope that you enjoyed this little fic, even if it was essentially an experiment for me. :)


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